Still Life

by Sarah Winman

was the sacrifice. But when have women not sacrificed to live as they feel? Not all of us will embra...

Nor should we. We have one life, my dear Evelyn, one life and ...

Love is the most wonderful discovery in the pantheon of human existence.

So, time heals. Mostly. Sometimes carelessly. And in unsuspecting moments, the pain catches and reminds one of all that’s been missing. The fulcrum of what might have been. But then it passes. Winter moves into spring and swallows return. The proximity of new skin returns to the

sheets. Beauty does what is required. Jobs fulfill and conversations inspire. Loneliness becomes a mere Sunday. Scattered clothes. Empty bowls. Rotting fruit. Passing time. But still life in all its beauty and complexity.